


If you could only see

by megyal



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-15
Updated: 2008-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/rounds_of_kink/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/rounds_of_kink/"><strong>rounds_of_kink</strong></a></p>
    </blockquote>





	If you could only see

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/rounds_of_kink/profile)[**rounds_of_kink**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/rounds_of_kink/)

John sat in a nearby chair and watched with a critical eye as one of the Feds fitted Matt with a tracking device, disguised as a silver band around his bare upper arm. The tracking device probably wasn't necessary at all, but it was a great safety measure, in case anything bad went down.

"Matt."

At the sound of his name rumbling from John, Matt looked up quickly, switching his attention from the agent snapping the device onto him, his eyes questioning. Matt looked completely different. The loose jeans and grungy t-shirt he so loved to lounge around in were completely gone, replaced by sleek dark clothing: a sleeveless black shirt that was entirely too tight across Matt's chest, in John's opinion, and a pair of black pants that showed off the curve of his ass. A fake tattoo went down the curve of his shoulder in a cascade of cryptic black symbols, and there was an earring in his left ear. His hair, normally flopping untidily around his face, was slicked back and someone had put something thick and black around his eyes and on his eyelashes, mascara or eyeliner or _both_; it deepened the brown of his eyes and made them appear larger.

He looked like someone's walking wet dream.

"Sure you're up for this?" John asked quietly. Agent Lao looked at John out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything. John glowered at him for good measure, anyway.

Matt shrugged with a wry grin, and there was something so reassuringly familiar about that movement under this new layer of sensuality, that John relaxed a little. Only a little, though.

"I can hack into their systems, no problem, man," Matt said and John just continued to look carefully at him, drinking in the sight. Matt's gaze caught his, and they stared at each other for a long moment, before Matt smiled faintly. "It'll be cool."

"We just need you to lock our surveillance network into theirs," Agent Lao said for the fiftieth time, at _least_. Both John and Matt sent him nearly identical withering gazes, but Agent Lao rallied on. "And make sure they don't know we're watching too."

"Dude, you guys will be total ghosts up in there," Matt said with a smile that might have been easygoing earlier, when he looked more like Matt and not an ad for LeatherBoys-'R-Us; now it looked sultry and self-satisfied, as if Matt was waiting for someone to push him against a wall and _do_ things to him. John clenched his fists against the arms of his chair and tried to take deep breaths. Matt raised his eyebrows, but made no comment.

"I don't see why I can't go in there, too," John muttered as they clambered out the back of the large delivery van. The club that was their target pulsed and buzzed just a few blocks down; a gay club, a bright cover for suspected drug-dealing and prostitution. Agent Lao blinked at John as a few other Feds approached in their street-gear.

"Your face is kind of familiar to a lot of people. A lot of people, as in everyone who watches television," Agent Lao explained slowly. "Also... you don't look the type."

"What type is _that_?" John asked in his soft voice, the one that meant he was getting kind of pissed off. Or, more pissed off than usual.

"Chill, McClane." Matt was standing in the shadows, leaning against the nearby wall with his hands pushed in his pockets, head tilted in amusement. His eyes were glittering in the gloom. "What he means is that I look like some guy's little boytoy, is that it?"

"Yes," Agent Lao returned unapologetically. John might not like the guy for sending in Matt into a place like that club over there, but directness was something he understood quite well, and appreciated. "And none of our agents who can pull off a look like this are also able to splice into a network, so there you go."

"Damn, me and my awesomeness," Matt grinned and sobered quickly as John stared at him, tightening his lips.

"When you set up the connection to broadcast their closed-circuit signal to our network, we'll be able to see all over that place," Lao continued. "So, get going."

Matt pushed off the wall and sauntered off. "Don't wait up," he called without looking back, hips swaying provocatively as the other agents trailed behind him, acting as protection for him in case any of the club's owners became suspicious. Even with _four_ of them, John still wasn't content, but that didn't stop him from staring fixedly at Matt's back, watching his shoulders tense as he stood at an intersection to cross the road to the club, the way he ran a hand through his hair as he finally stood in the line, waiting his turn to enter.

"Let's get back inside the van, McClane," Lao suggested, but John folded his arms, eyes locked on Matt. Someone behind Matt started a conversation with him; Matt smiled and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that John knew well. In a few moments, Matt was showing the fake ID he had to the bouncer and slipped inside.

"Ok," John said before Lao could pester him again. "We can go in now."

 

* * *

 

"It's taking too long," Lao muttered, staring at the bank of screens mounted on one side of the van's interior. All of them showed nothing but the fuzzy field of static. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Probably I should go in there," John stated, already getting to his feet; one screen suddenly went black, and then resolved itself into a view of a large, well-furnished room, half-office and half-bedroom. John sat back down, slowly.

The camera that was transmitting was apparently set in a corner where walls and ceiling met; John and Lao could see Matt sitting at a long desk and typing in that intense way he had. There was text speeding across the bottom of this active screen, and Lao was impressed: the kid was actually wiping the visual information of _this_ feed from the network as it was being filmed, while simultaneously linking the rest of the cameras. The club's owners wouldn't know he'd even _been_ in this room. Matt looked over his shoulder a few times, and once he looked directly up at the camera, and grinned.

John smiled back, feeling wry as he did so; he couldn't help it.

One by one, the other screens snapped to life, some showing the main floor of the club, others transmitting signals from behind the bar and the bathrooms. Yet others showed the private rooms, couples and groups of men in very interesting positions; Lao delicately switched these off.

John tensed as Matt suddenly stood up, looking anxiously towards what appeared to be the main entry to this particular private room. He bent forward, probably sending some command to hide the Fed's spliced-in network; then he switched off the computer and walked quickly over to the tall window overlooking the street.

"We need to get him out of there," John said tightly as a suave-looking man entered the room with a big bottle of wine and a bigger smile. When the man turned to close the door, Matt's gaze flickered up at the camera; in that single look, John saw that: 1) he was perfectly calm; and 2) he was calm because he knew John was out there.

The kid was counting on him.

"Wait, not yet," Lao said, clamping his hands around John's wrist before John could stampede out of the van. "Is that... holy shit, that's Dave Cooke. Looks a little different, he probably has a hairpiece on or something, but I'm sure that's him. He's familiar enough to get the boss' private rooms. Huh. Imagine that."

John watched with his mouth in a tight line as this Cooke guy came close to Matt and handed him a glass of wine. He knew Cooke was some dipshit advisor to the mayor who spoke out against same-sex marriages, but he really didn't care right now, because Cooke dipped his head suddenly and pressed his mouth against Matt's.

"Fucker," John growled and while Matt reacted admirably, parting his lips and moulding himself against Cooke's taller frame, John wanted to break something. Preferably, he wanted to break Cooke's entire _body_. As they were kissing, Cooke's hands roamed greedily over Matt's shoulders and arms, grasping him by the hips and yanking him even closer; Cooke's eyes were closed, but Matt's gaze was fixed on the camera, almost pinning John to the spot. He was looking right _at_ John, waiting patiently for him.

Cook broke the kiss and latched his lips onto Matt's neck. Matt arched, his lips red and plump; he mouthed, _John_, as his eyelids fluttered. _John, please, John_, his mouth formed. John felt his skin prickle and heat, barely noticing the way Lao was staring up at him in disbelief.

When Matt licked his lips, eyes closed again and still forming John's name with his mouth, a needy curl of lips and tongue. John turned and stormed out of the back of the delivery-truck.

"All agents," Lao said into his radio as John strode purposefully towards the club. "All agents, the bull is in the china-shop. Repeat, the bull is in the china-shop."

 

* * *

 

Lao knew it had been a massively bad idea to let McClane come along for the ride, but they wouldn't have gotten Farrell to do this job without him. He sighed tiredly as he put his radio down, watching the screens; Farrell was pushing Cooke away with a sly smile, saying something. Cooke nodded eagerly, pulling off his clothes rapidly and flinging himself down on the bed. Matt took up his tie from the ground and straddled him, fumbling a little near the headboard.

Lao sincerely hoped John wouldn't burst in and see them like that. He didn't have an ambulance nearby.

Now, the kid was removing his shirt and Lao was actually _praying_.

Suddenly, Farrell leaped off the bed and sprinted, shirtless, for the door. Lao boggled for a bit and then laughed. Cooke was sprawled nude on the bed, his hands securely tied to the headboard. Matt's shirt was covering his face and he was kicking his pasty legs and obviously making a big fuss, but Matt was already out the door.

Lao grinned as switched his attention to the screens displaying the club's dance-floor. He could see McClane's distinctive bald-head moving around the club; he had to give it to McClane, he could be subtle when he wanted to be, because right now he wasn't elbowing people in the nose to get them out of his way.

Farrell emerged from a staircase towards the back of the club, and Lao didn't know how McClane spotted him so fast, but he did. _Now_ he was pushing people out of his way, not paying attention when they complained; Farrell was struggling towards him and they met in the middle of the crowded floor.

"Huh," Lao muttered as John's hands, his big, dangerous hands, cupped the kid's face with shocking tenderness. Farrell was smiling up at him, and they were just looking right into each other's faces, oblivious to the writhing dancers around them. "Imagine that."

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/vzg/profile)[**vzg**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/vzg/): _"He knows John is watching."_; kink: voyeurism and vision themes, _(character A secretly watches B and C have sex; character A is forced to watch B and C have sex; character A watches character B perform/masturbate; viewing one's beloved in general; taking pictures or video; eye contact, especially as flirting; establishing authority with a look; closing eyes as a trust gesture; character A feeling that character B truly sees him, when no one else does; the quality of light, e.g., characters lit by moonlight or candlelight, or gilded by the setting sun; being in the dark; temporary or permanent blindness; gazes as objectification)_
> 
> Beta'ed by the amazing [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/atlantisgrrrl/profile)[**atlantisgrrrl**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/atlantisgrrrl/).


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